"Sleep strike!"

We used to stay on the phone 

talking to each other for hours.

And when I would get too tired, 

despite the two hour time difference between us, 

and try to get off the phone to get some sleep, 

she’d shout, “sleep strike!”,

keeping me awake 

to talk for a few minutes longer. 

I love my sleep, 

but those two words ended up becoming my favorite two words a person could piece together. “Sleep strike!”

Over and over again, every night, “Sleep strike!” 

I’d fall asleep so content—so happy to be with her. And she always sounded so happy. She seemed so in love . . .

When I would wake up, 

I’d immediately reach for a phone to read her “Good morning, Babe :)” text to me. 

I’d wake up so excited to get to be with her for another day. 

It felt like a privilege.

It felt like real love.

It felt like more than I had ever imagined love could be. 

She felt as if she was becoming a part of me.

She seemed so happy . . . 

“Whiskey!” was what we would say when we were horny. “Whiskey!”

Over and over again, every night, “Whiskey!” 

“I promise to always love you in all of your forms,” was something else we’d say often. 

And I think we really meant it. I don’t think it was a lie.

But, some promises are easier to keep when they are just words. 

“I promise to always love you in all of your forms . . .” but those words didn’t last through the storms. 

In the end, 

the last words we ever said to each other were, 

“Until we meet again.”

“Until we meet again . . .”

I couldn’t say goodbye again. So I said this instead. And, you know what? I really do believe I will see her again. I couldn’t see it when it ended. The future seemed too far away. I was stuck trying to survive the day. But now, after all of this, I know it. I will see her again. I know it.

It might take days, or months, or years, or even decades—hell, it might take centuries, or a hundred different lifetimes—but she and I will meet again. I just wonder who we will both be by then . . . 

CH 3/11/26